


spell it out for me

by shiruru



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 09:18:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19104190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiruru/pseuds/shiruru
Summary: 'His smirk had an edge to it, burnt bright into Shizuo’s memory the moment his eyes fell onto him. Something shifted in his chest, and his mind was silenced as the man settled down onto a stool, leaning across the counter. His hands tightened around the mug and the rag he was holding, pressing the fabric rough and firm against the glass.“A drink?” Shizuo offered, staring quietly at the man. The atmosphere in the bar seemed diluted just by the stranger’s mere presence.The man shrugged. “What would you recommend for a hunter?”'The newest patron has something up his sleeve, but who is Shizuo to judge when he has his own secrets to keep?





	spell it out for me

The dark-haired man came through the doors of the bar.

His smirk had an edge to it, burnt bright into Shizuo’s memory the moment his eyes fell onto him. Something shifted in his chest, and his mind was silenced as the man settled down onto a stool, leaning across the counter. His hands tightened around the mug and the rag he was holding, pressing the fabric rough and firm against the glass.

“A drink?” Shizuo offered, staring quietly at the man. The atmosphere in the bar seemed diluted just by the stranger’s mere presence.

The man shrugged. “What would you recommend for a hunter?”

Shizuo frowned. Reaching for a clean glass, he ran through some drinks in his head, seizing up the man in front of him. Already, the man came across as proud, arrogant, the kind of patron that got on Shizuo’s nerves, but years of practice kept him calm and collected.

He ducked his chin, beginning to make a drink.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Shizu-chan, you really should consider a better job.”

Shizuo arched a brow. He glanced up to face Izaya, the dark-haired man that had strolled into the bar and his life weeks ago. His fur coat hung on the back of his chair, and he was dressed in the same unassuming clothes—a black shirt and grey pants.

“Like?” he asked, humouring Izaya. Bartending was a calm job that he had chose to stay with after his brother had offered to pay for the uniforms. He didn’t want to waste his brother’s graciousness, and he was fond of the bar’s calm, slow atmosphere. “Are you hiring me?”

Izaya’s eyes brightened. “If I was?”

“No thanks,” Shizuo answered simply, serving a filled glass to Izaya. It was a different drink this time, as it had always been each and every other night. He hadn’t found the drink that Izaya kept wanting to come back to, and though it didn’t matter much he was still interested and determined enough to figure out what Izaya liked the most. “I like working here.”

The light in Izaya’s eyes didn’t diminish like Shizuo thought it would. “Why? It’s so boring,” he remarked.

“It’s peaceful.”  
  
Izaya carelessly reached for his glass and shook it idly in his hand. “Of course, of course. It’s all in the name, Shizuo Heiwajima-kun.”

Shizuo snorted.

Izaya sipped his drink. His nose scrunched, lashes fluttering.

Not this one, Shizuo thought.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Izaya came into the bar, and collapsed dramatically onto the counter.

His head laid flat on his forearms. His eyes were (presumably) closed and he was (presumably) resting, his coat still hanging behind the back of his chair and his outfit the same as ever. Izaya had came into the bar all graceful and elegant like, and the moment he had sat down, he had just... done whatever it was he wanted to do.

It was amusing.

Shizuo didn’t ask or prod for details. His customers told him what they wanted him to hear; he was no more than an active listener in their lives, an occasional friend his regulars turned to. It was lonely living that way, sometimes, but equally peaceful enough that it didn’t bother him much.

“Ne, Shizu-chan,” Izaya murmured, lifting himself up. He still used the counter as a support for himself, but Shizuo could clearly see his face. “Don’t you want to know what’s gotten your favourite customer so tired?”

“You’ll tell me if you want to,” Shizuo grunted, stirring. He met Izaya’s eyes. Izaya smiled lazily at him.

“Demonic possession,” Izaya drawled. He yawned, clasping his fingers over his mouth to stifle it. “We were missing a vessel. I volunteered.”

“Why?” Shizuo asked, although other questions stirred at the back of his head.

“It liked me,” Izaya grinned, but the smirk disappeared. “...Unfortunately. I’d met it years before, and only managed to track it down again just two days ago.”

“Oh. ...Did you talk to it before?” Shizuo asked. Izaya leaned back. “You did,” Shizuo stated. “Demons are dangerous, you know.”

“We just talked,” Izaya protested. “It’s not too far-fetched to believe I still have a soul. These talents didn’t come from the sin city underneath.”

“So you charmed a demon," Shizuo concluded. Something in Izaya’s eyes twinkled.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Business was slow-moving, but Shizuo found himself slowly liking slow-moving days more and more.

The pay wasn’t as good when there were not much tips, but that didn’t bother him. He had enough in the bank to tide him over a few difficult months where he could search for other options of stability, and it wasn’t as if slow-moving was an adjective he hadn’t had the pleasure of years to get used to.

Izaya dropped by mostly when the afternoons bled into evenings. He didn’t come every day, whatever business there was in Ikebukuro occupying his time, but he seemed to come when he could, which was at least four days a week. On the weekends, Shizuo rarely saw him, and never got around to asking what he was up to. It didn’t bother him much; what mattered was that he continued to do his job and maintain the tranquility in the bar.

Sometimes, Izaya came in late. He would stumble through the doors with a clumsy gait, and sit himself on the counter without speaking. He used a lot of glamour to cover himself, Shizuo knew, because there were always spots in his skin he had forgotten to cover, and from there Shizuo could easily see the cuts and the bruises Izaya sustained. Always, Shizuo didn’t ask, didn’t prod, only continued maintaining the strange yet welcomed routine the both of them created.

A part of him questioned Izaya’s intentions on coming here, but Shizuo never explored it any further than just that passing thought. Some things were better left alone, he felt. Things were quiet between them—and he wanted it to stay that way.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

He pressed his fingers insistently against the side of his head, trying to massage the headache he could feel was forming. The moon was close to full, which meant that he would have to take tomorrow off. Groaning under his breath, he unbuttoned his vest as he locked the backroom up, draping the vest over his arms. Beads of perspiration trickled the back of his neck, a stiff stuffiness lining each and every part of his body. Slipping the key into his pocket, Shizuo turned around and started to walk out of the alleyway back into the main sidewalk.

“Closed?”

Izaya stood looking into the inside of the bar. His hands were in his pockets, and he fidgeted slightly on the spot. Swaying back and forth, back and forth, he turned around to face Shizuo to listen to his reply.

“You came too late,” Shizuo pointed out, hands by his side. He came a stop before him, though he was eager to go home. “Try again tomorrow.”

Izaya hummed. He stepped back, gesturing to Shizuo to move on. “I happen to go the same way you do. Go on.”

Shizuo frowned in puzzlement, but continued to move. He didn’t want to protest but at the same time he could practically (and literally) sniff out the ulterior motive hiding behind Izaya’s friendliness. It had been weeks, but he still couldn’t understand why Izaya had approached him in the first place, even after rejecting his offer to join the guild. To hunt him, maybe— Shizuo hadn’t crossed that possibility out—but Izaya was consistently friendly and kept his distance, and Shizuo never felt any trace of enmity from him at all.

It felt strange.  
  
But it was the good kind of strange, Shizuo supposed. A friend was always good to have.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It had been an accident. Shizuo was close to locking front of the bar when his nose itched with a faint scent. Before his eyes could catch up, realisation dawned on him as he tilted his head upwards. Spotting Izaya at the opposite side of the street, Shizuo lightly frowned and slipped the entrance keys back into his pocket, making his way back behind the counter.

Reaching for a glass, Shizuo didn’t look up when he heard the door open. There was no one else that it could be, after all.

“I feel honoured,” Izaya said in greeting, shrugging off his coat and wrapping it over his arm as he sat. He glanced around the bar, studied it from one end to the other. “I’ve finally became your favourite customer, haven’t I?”

“There’s still time for one last customer,” Shizuo grunted in response, declining to acknowledge Izaya’s remark. He reached for a glass cup, setting it in front of him as he filled it with ice cubes. “Any request?”

“The same as you’ve been doing any other night,” Izaya answered simply.

Shizuo planned to keep it short. He felt odd closing the door on Izaya when he had sensed the other walking towards the bar from a distance, felt rude although it was most likely what any other bartender would have done—even for a friend. He was tired after a long day too, and wasn’t looking forward much to the night tomorrow. His mood could have been better, but Shizuo couldn’t complain. At least the bar was quiet, he thought.

At least, before Izaya came in.

Izaya talked about a lot of things. From tonight alone, Shizuo learnt more about him than he ever had—whoever Shinra was, whoever Celty was, his twin sisters that he rarely brought up (Shizuo was lucky if Izaya ever acknowledged them at all).

“I have a brother, too,” Shizuo grunted, as Izaya trailed off. “Not as much of a troublemaker as your sisters, though.”

“Ah. So you’re the troublemaker, then?” he teased.

“Yeah,” Shizuo freely admitted. He rubbed the back of his neck as he sat down on the stool. “I got into a lot of trouble when I was a teen.” He paused for a moment. “Not that I wanted to,” he added quickly. “People didn’t want to leave me alone.”

“And now you’re free from all of that trouble, left to stew away in a lonely bar somewhere downtown. Marvelous.”

Shizuo weakly chuckled. “If that’s how you see it.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Izaya said, still looking right at him. “The ‘Great Fortissimo of Ikebukuro’, ‘unseen and unheard of for years’, ‘spotted working at a bar?’ he quoted, extending an open palm he gestured towards Shizuo’s form. “I’m surprised no one has come to bother you at all.”

Shizuo shrugged. “Gangs used to come here,” he said vaguely. Those weren’t incidents he liked to talk about, even to his own family. It had been a major close call the first few times he had been bothered in the bar—it was a miracle that no one died, and a blessing that no one had gotten out unscathed. He hadn’t learnt enough to control himself yet, when he first started fresh out of high school, and it was only Delic that successfully managed to restrain him and force him into the backroom before anything devastating could happen. “They don’t now.”

“I always admire those who learn from their mistakes,” Izaya said, tracing a line across the countertop. Silence crept in again as Izaya took a sip from his drink, reaching into his pocket for his phone. It flickered to life, and Izaya’s focus became fixated on that. Without the weight of his attention, Shizuo found it easier to idly direct his gaze over Izaya’s face, watching him quietly.

Izaya didn’t finish his drink today. Even as the hours passed, the cup remained half-full. Shizuo’s gut constricted, nervousness rising as he began to wonder if he had done something wrong, but Izaya only continued the conversation with an almost carefree glee.

He seemed fine.  
  
It wasn’t the drink, Shizuo thought. Then, the only reason for Izaya’s discomfort would be...

“Hey,” he grunted, his voice sounding airy. Izaya looked up as if on cue. “Why did you come to Ikebukuro?”

“I saw wolfsbane on sale at the local store the other day,” Izaya answered without skipping a beat, locking eyes with Shizuo. His lips were still curled in a smirk, but unlike other days it was smaller and softer this time, somehow. “They looked pretty. And I thought, why not buy some for my favourite bartender, hm?”

Shizuo’s throat went dry. A chill climbed up his spine as the air around him turned cold. His attention forced entirely onto Izaya, he couldn’t even find it in himself to duck his head and buy some time to hide his reaction, afraid even of faltering for just a second before Izaya. His mind sped on overtime, working and trying to figure out what he could even say in answer. 

He was right. Izaya knew all along. He wondered if today would be the last of his peaceful existence, if Izaya had been playing him for a fool all along. That thought sparked anger in the pits of his stomach, but Shizuo forced himself to keep all that frustration locked tight.

“I’m... allergic,” he answered, weakly. It was a declaration all on its own—a confession Izaya didn’t force out of him yet in a way, did. Not daring to speak, Shizuo set to mindlessly cleaning the glass cups, pressing his fingers tight against the fabric as he wiped. It was good to feel some kind of pressure against his hand, to spread thin the heavy gravity encapsulated right in his heart. “...But thanks.”

Izaya’s eyes softened. Shizuo’s stomach constricted as Izaya reached further over the counter.

“Something else, then?” Izaya asked. Shizuo swallowed the bitter lump at the back of his throat. This was it. The moment he had been dreading.

Izaya was going to—

“Could I kiss you, Shizuo?”

Shizuo’s stomach clenched again, but this time it was because of the anticipation and all the surprise flooding his head. His mouth dropped open, his eyes widening as he lifted his head to look Izaya right in the eyes, searching for some kind of teasing glint, but Izaya was being serious.

A protest bubbled up at the back of his throat, but he popped it before it could rise to his lips. He nodded.

His hand clasped over Izaya’s own as the hunter leaned forward, over the countertop.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Shizuo opened his eyes.

Izaya laid next to him, huddled against his chest and his arm. He traced his hands idly along the other’s back, breathed in as quietly as he could. Izaya’s scent was intoxicating to lose himself in, an aroma he hadn’t noticed until he woke up. Holding Izaya closer, Shizuo closed his eyes and took his time to appreciate the warmth of another body.

He didn’t know how Izaya figured it out. He must have slipped up, somehow. 

It was a secret Shizuo had always been hellbent on keeping to himself, but somehow Izaya had figured it out and came to him. The rumours about his strength would have tipped him off, perhaps, but Shizuo didn’t think he had displayed any further signs of his supernatural heritage. The other hunters that had came all lost interest the moment he declined to help them—yet Izaya was still here. He frowned slightly against the dark of Izaya’s hair. Izaya had even offered himself up to him, knowing full well what he was.

It made his heart skip a beat.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Shizuo lifted him against the wall in the backroom, pressed his lips over his. The hands around his neck grew firmer, a hold Shizuo didn’t want to break out of. He felt Izaya’s hands lingering delicately across his collarbone, dipping into his chest, tugging lightly at his vest. Hands solidly on Izaya’s hips, Shizuo lifted him up again to allow him to settle into a more comfortable position.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Izaya asked, smiling lightly. Mirth danced in his eyes, radiated even in his hands from the way his fingers danced lightly past Shizuo’s skin.

“Then you shouldn’t have snuck in,” Shizuo growled, kissing him again. Izaya mumbled a quiet ‘touche’, gave in to Shizuo’s touch willingly. “Delic’s got it, if you’re so worried,” he murmured.

“That oaf?” Izaya asked. Shizuo snorted. Kissing Izaya again, he let go of him afterwards stepping back. Izaya pulled at his clothes, patted down the creases that had formed. “Delic’s like you, isn’t he?”

Shizuo frowned lightly, pulling his sleeves back down. “Yeah. How’d you know? He’s good at hiding it.”

“A hunch,” Izaya drawled.  
  
“Was I a hunch too?”

Izaya glanced at him. A ghost of lip, curving slyly at the edges of his mouth. “What do you think?”


End file.
